


Some Morbid Little Lie

by HYPERFocused



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, Community: 15_minute_fic, Community: daily_prompt, Community: ds_snippets | dsc6dsnippets, Experimental Style, M/M, Snippets, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 18:36:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HYPERFocused/pseuds/HYPERFocused
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't about the words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Morbid Little Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Ds6d snippets Prompts:  
> *lunge  
> *boot  
> *filthy  
> *curve  
> (Title from the Paul Simon song, Further to Fly, quoted as a prompt)  
> 15_minute_Ficlets prompt:holy  
> DailyPrompt: Storybook Ending  
> Wordcount: 300 exactly. 150 each for Ray and Fraser.  
> Notes: also for <http://dailyprompt.dreamwidth.org>, and <http://15-minute-ficlets.dreamwidth.org>

When it comes right down to it, Ray's not sure he's ever believed in anything truly holy. Sure, he's said the words, gone through the motions, parroted expected responses at weddings and funerals alike. And sometimes they are alike. Certainly the end of his marriage to Stella felt like a death blow. Signing the papers was just putting the final nails in the coffin.

But no. Holiness. The whole God thing. All of it was just a way of getting people to do what you think they ought to want to do anyway, but need the nudge, or shove, to accomplish.

Lately, though, he's had to rethink things. Fraser has this way of twisting things. Twisting Ray, as it were. Nights spent together, bodies lunging into each other, "knocking boots" as the saying went. Ray's filthy words uttered with almost sacred intent, and Fraser's elegant, beautiful syllables turned deliciously profane.

* * *

Fraser grew up in a library. He could almost say his whole life had been catalogued. It wasn't just the musty leather-bound tomes: out of date encyclopedia, and barely cracked spines of novels that were not so much "classic" as they were "preserved", like butterflies pinned to parchment.

He was pinned down, too. His very thoughts dissected: unspoken desires collated and annotated, like entries in a volume of quaint, antiquated minutiae. All noted; every turn of phrase, the curve of each letter as it flowed to the next.

He'd always known words could be beautiful, in and of themselves. But it wasn't until Ray, that he learned the power of immediacy, of _Yes, Ray, anything._ and _Do it now, Fraser._ The gilded glimpse of Ray's spiky hair through bedroom sunlight is better than any illuminated text. After a crash course on love, Fraser finally got his storybook ending.


End file.
